


physical persuasions

by vaudelin



Series: supernatural codas [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Breakfast in Bed, Episode Related, Fluff, Grumpy Dean, M/M, Morning Cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-22
Updated: 2017-11-22
Packaged: 2019-02-05 08:02:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12790266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaudelin/pseuds/vaudelin
Summary: “You make this so hard,” Castiel groused, as Dean defeated his efforts once again. He let himself be pushed onto his back, his neck stretched out while Dean laved a wet bruise beneath the bolt of his jaw.





	physical persuasions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [remmyme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/remmyme/gifts).



> It's not really a 4+1, but the spirit is there so hopefully that's okay :)

Mornings with Dean was a routine that Castiel was determined to learn.

Clues had been available all along, of course. Dean had always been vocal about his dislike for finding Castiel staring at him while he was sleeping. Touching his arm or shaking the pillow did not fare well either, but Castiel’s odds had improved once he had learned the crucial tells of when to wake Dean and when to leave him be.

If Dean was on his back, with arms open? A cautious hand was welcome.

On his side, or with hands settled beneath him? Watch for weapons drawn.

The latter lesson came at the cost of a quick stabbing, played out between Castiel’s ribs one morning when he jostled Dean to wake him and received a flash of silver in response. The blade sliced through Castiel’s coat, bit at bone and took root in his vessel’s lower abdomen. Dean had barely blinked his eyes open before muttering, “Morning,” and rolling back beneath the sheets.

Castiel withdrew the knife with a wet slide. He thumbed the entry wound, stitching fabric and flesh neatly closed. “My apologies,” he mumbled, but Dean had already fallen back asleep.

* * *

Castiel fared better when he showed up with incentives. Sam had taught him that trick, after a sufficient number of close calls had passed when attempting to wake Dean, the last of which had ventured dangerously close to catching Sam in the Colt’s crossfire.

After that, Sam had taken Castiel’s arm and dragged him to a nearby gas station, down the block from the motel where they were currently staying.

“Coffee,” Sam said, pushing two large paper cups beneath the dispenser. “Always bring coffee. Grab the crullers over there, too.” Sam paused, then filled a third coffee cup for good measure.

The station was quiet at this early hour. The attendant leaned with both elbows atop the counter beside the register, her eyes drifting closed. Castiel did as instructed, fetching a few beige pastries out from the single-wrapped pile. For Sam, he added a banana and an apple that weren’t entirely comprised of bruises, and a pack of jerky for Dean later on the road.

At the motel, Sam handed the cardboard tray of drinks to Castiel and fished the keys out from his pocket. They tread quietly over to where Dean still slept.

Sam cracked the lid on one coffee cup and set it on the bedside table. He took a single-wrapped pastry from the bag next and, after taking two careful steps back, lobbed the snack directly at Dean’s face.

“Wake up, jerk,” Sam said, crowing above Dean’s sputtered indignation.

Dean rose rapidly to his feet, half-conscious but fully prepared to murder his brother, at least until the scent of fresh coffee tugged him back toward the bed. He cracked open the wrapper—one eye partly opened, swearing vengeance at Sam—and stuffed the cruller into his mouth.

“See?” Sam said, gesturing behind him, self-congratulatory. “Bribes.”

Dean tossed the wrapper at the back of Sam’s head.

* * *

So Castiel had learned to bribe Dean into suffering through a more pleasant morning, if only for the sake of the rest of them. Coffee remained the most viable and consistent option, as Sam had promised. Prepackaged snacks worked too, when on the road, while breakfast in bed appeared to be the treat Dean most enjoyed when back at the bunker.

Castiel took him a plate of pancakes on one such morning, made after studiously following the instructions on a box of mix he found in the kitchen. He brought a cup of coffee and a set of cutlery with the plate. The cakes he topped with a pat of butter and a splash of syrup, as the image of the box had suggested.

With both hands busy Castiel toed open Dean’s door, the hinges creaking quietly to reveal the dim cast of the furniture within.

“Dean?” Castiel said softly, rounding the bed, heading for its empty side. Dean lay on his stomach, clenched around a spare pillow. Not good; Castiel put the cup and plate on the desk instead.

With a fortifying breath he reached out to Dean, set a hand on him and shook. Dean fired back with a fist but Castiel was ready—the blow fell a fraction short of hitting his face.

“Oh,” Dean said. “Hi, Cas.” He sank back into bed.

Cautiously, Castiel sat beside him, smoothing out the covers by his knee. “Good morning, Dean.”

Dean huffed into his pillow, rubbing his cheek against it. Only the corner of his mouth was visible, but it was lilted with a smile. “What’s so good about it.”

Castiel considered asking him to repeat the garbled phrase, but he mostly understood. He retrieved the coffee and pancakes and sat back on the bed. “Breakfast.”

Dean lifted his head at that, scenting the air like a starving dog. Castiel tilted the plate slightly, setting it on an angle Dean could see. Dean moaned and threw an arm around Castiel’s waist, pulling him closer. “You’re my favourite.”

Tugged off-balance, Castiel tipped over.

Coffee splashed between them. A pancake slipped off the plate.

* * *

Bribes made from meals gave way to more physical persuasions, once Dean finally found the courage to pull Castiel into his bed. The mornings shifted from Sam lobbing one bag of breakfast into him lobbing two, with both Castiel and Dean glaring out from the sheets with murderous intent.

Castiel hadn’t meant to mimic Dean’s tendency toward anger upon waking, but the interruptions Sam brought to their otherwise languorous indulgences weren’t something he would quietly bear. He enjoyed laying there with Dean wrapped around him, on the rare occasions when there was nothing better for them to do. He could trace the slope of Dean’s shoulders for hours, featherlight touches flowing up to where Dean’s head dipped beneath his chin, Dean’s mouth damp in the crook of his neck.

Dean, with his hands on Castiel’s hips, petting slightly, his thigh nudging forward until Castiel stilled it between both of his. Nothing could compare to this.

On the days where Castiel’s sense of duty required him to rouse, Dean’s response to the suggestion typically devolved into angry cuddling, his grip vice-like and relentless in his desire to make Castiel stay. Dean went so far as to scratch at his back and nip hot bruises into his shoulder, sucking and biting until Castiel capitulated, panting and breathless against him.

“You make this so hard,” Castiel groused, as Dean defeated his efforts once again. He let himself be pushed onto his back, his neck stretched out while Dean laved a wet bruise beneath the bolt of his jaw.

Castiel ran his fingers through Dean’s hair, feathering it back from his brow. His foot dragged along the inside of Dean’s knee.

“I’ll show you hard,” Dean mumbled, more lips and rumble than breath.

Castiel groaned. The hands inside his boxers made it difficult to argue, so he saved his breath for better things.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr link](https://vaudelin.tumblr.com/post/167754486383/physical-persuasions) :o


End file.
